


Times of Shifting Ties: Fateful Full Moon

by RekaStormborn



Series: The Ties That Bind [4]
Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: F/M, Vampires, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:36:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22667134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RekaStormborn/pseuds/RekaStormborn
Summary: In a time when the Christian church holds sway in Britain and suspected witches are persecuted and killed, Síneag has to hide what she is to keep herself safe.  When she meets someone else in the night under the full moon who has even more reason to hide, it opens a world of possibilities she never imagined.
Series: The Ties That Bind [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1339216
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. A Dancer in the Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Pronunciation notes: Síneag is pronounced Sin-Eh-Ah with the emphasis on the “sin.” Sheona is pronounced like Shonna/Seana/Shawna. Aurélie is pronounced Oh-Ray-Lee with the emphasis on “ray.”

Síneag walks carefully down the darkened lanes of the village on her way toward the woods. She knows it’s a bad idea to go out tonight, but she has to. There was talk in the village of cattle being ravaged by beasts too large to be wolves and when the soldiers came through last week, they spoke of villagers disappearing at night. They’d been riding from Edinburgh and the reports started north of Perth and continued until they reached her small village just south of Inverness.

Angus, her sister’s husband, had ordered Síneag to stay in the house with Sheona and his two sons until they were certain it was safe. No matter how much he claimed it was for her own protection, Síneag knows that Angus only values her for the money she brings in with her sewing and the help she gives her sister with the children. He does not want her in his home and never did.

Not for the first time, Síneag wishes her parents hadn’t died. They had believed. Her father would guard Síneag and her mother and the other women who still followed the old ways. Sheona had left their small coven and joined Angus in his monthly pilgrimage to the church in Inverness a few years before they married.

When Mama and Father died in the fire that took the only home Síneag ever knew and every possession she had, her only choice was to beg Angus and Sheona to take her in. No one else would have wanted her. The villagers still whisper that she is a witch, even though she goes every month with her sister and Angus to the church. She helps Sheona keep the two little boys quiet. Síneag even agreed to be baptized with the younger one to please her sister.

There was no magic in the baptism. She’d not felt the presence of their great god, as the priests claimed she would. She’d felt empty, hollow, and alone. She always feels alone, and tonight is no different, but it’s Beltane and the moon is full and Síneag refuses to stay shut indoors on such an important night.

Having successfully fled the village without being seen, Síneag hurries her steps toward the clearing where the coven once met. She’s the only one left now. Her parents’ deaths frightened many of the women who once worshipped with her, and four never returned after hearing the news. Two more drifted away in the following months, and three others, the oldest and wisest of their small group, died peaceful deaths over the intervening three years. That left only herself and one other, a much younger girl, who soon stopped arriving for their monthly observance of the full moon. Síneag still hasn’t heard what became of her. She lives further out from the village with her mother and two brothers.

When Síneag comes to the clearing, she begins to relax for the first time in a month. Only here, surrounded by the quiet woods and the presence of the God and Goddess, does she ever feel peace. She felt peace at home once, with her parents, but not since losing them did she find it anywhere but here. With no coven to observe with her, Síneag dispensed with most of the material things they once used in their rituals. If she leaves no trace of herself behind, no one can accuse her with anything but words. She has heard of the fate the church gives to witches and does not plan on being turned in as one.

On other nights, she would lift her voice in song to praise the God and Goddess, but tonight, she holds her tongue, lifting only her magic up in offering to them. As her magic moves out into the night she begins to dance, her body moving and shifting as she glories in the release that ritual gives her and the feeling of complete safety she always feels with magic flowing around her in the clearing they consecrated to the God and Goddess.

#

Ira glides through the woods, thankful to be away from the rest of them. They’re traveling with the permission of the local Masters but he knows that if Aurélie was not escorting Belle’s envoy they would not be passing through these lands. The local human population has been suitably cowed over the past two decades as the English strengthened their hold on the Scottish north but that does nothing to make the Scottish Masters any less territorial, petty, or cruel, as this tour has taught Ira.

It is rare for Aurélie to let him hunt on his own, especially when they are in someone else’s lands, but Ira does not question the permission granted while in this territory and now glories in the feel of the woods around him and the sense of peace it gives him. This particular forest reminds him of his long ago youth in Brittany.

When the first tendrils of magic breathe across his skin he stops completely, sinking into the stillness of his kind as he listens with ears and power. This is not the energy of another vampire, or the familiar brush of a shapechanger, but something else entirely.

Remaining silent, Ira moves toward the magic. He has few skills as a master, but stealth is the most useful of them. He can surprise even the most powerful when he desires to or slip past those he wishes. Each step increases the amount of magic bathing his skin. Whatever he’s about to find is very powerful, even outstripping Aurélie, so Ira moves cautiously, keeping close to cover as he approaches the clearing where someone is dancing. He eases behind a tree and peers around it to see who it is that holds such power.

She is barefoot, wearing a dingy white shift and a tartan across her shoulders and fastened around her waist with a thin brown leather belt. The plaid flows around her as she dances, the earth tones drawing attention to the rich brown curls that move about her head, falling across her face as she prances and sways to music only she can hear. Her eyes remain closed as he watches her dancing, her feet never once landing on any of the sharp stones or missing their footing on the grass still damp from the early evening rain.

He can feel her blood moving quickly, almost in time with her dancing steps. There will be power in that blood, he knows, but witches can be dangerous, even one who looks as young as this slip of a girl. Only once has Ira met with a witch since his death. She appeared alone in the woods as well, but her coven was there, ready to harm him and his two companions. Ira’s ability to fly was the only thing that saved him from being secured to a tree to wait for dawn. The memory still pains him. He’d called them friends, and has not found anything approaching friendship since the sun took those two.

There’s no sense of time as he watches that young, lithe form dancing in the clearing, completely abandoned to the movements and the night. She is the most beautiful thing he has seen in a very long time. When her movements slow and she comes to a stop, Ira waits, watching her, to see what she will do. He is barely visible in his black cloak, peering from behind a tree, and it would take better vision than most humans possess to spot him, which gives him a sense of safety in the darkness as he waits for her to move.

When she does, her eyes open, and their gray green irises stare straight at him. Instinct takes over, and he pushes his power out and into her eyes, pulling her under his spell only to find she will not fall.

#

Síneag knows she should be afraid when she finds someone is watching her but his eyes are so beautiful. It’s the only thought she has when she meets his blue gray eyes and they hold hers. The most beautiful eyes she’s ever seen, and they only grow more lovely as the gray blue bleeds across his pupils in a drowning fire of power. She feels it when he pushes that power into her, but it’s only a warm weight against her own magic, nothing to worry about. He cannot harm her.

Her complete certainty of this startles her and she breaks eye contact enough to glance around the clearing, assuring herself with eyes, as well as magic, that they are alone.

“Who are you?” Síneag whispers, her eyes finding the strange man exactly where she left him.

“You may call me Ira,” he replies, his English accented heavily with some other language. They don’t get many foreigners this far north who aren’t from England.

“But who are you?” she asks again. He has power, so if he’s a fellow practitioner, he should recognize the question for what it is and answer her accordingly. If he doesn’t, she may have an answer for what happened to all the missing villagers.

“I am a traveler, nothing more,” he replies, and she can feel his power moving with his voice over her skin, attempting to soothe her.

“Do you mean me harm?” Síneag asks, studying what she can see of the stranger. His eyes are still beautiful, though the power has faded from them again. His curls are brown and escape from the hood of his cloak to fall across his forehead. He’s pale, but that could be a trick of the moonlight. His face is handsome, a strong jaw, prominent cheekbones, and a nose that is neither too large nor too small. His eyebrows arch delicately over his eyes, drawing attention to them, and his lips are full and red. His cloak hides the rest of him but she can tell from the silhouette that his shoulders are almost narrow and he stands at least a head taller than she does.

“I intend you no harm, lady,” Ira replies.

Síneag laughs. No one has ever confused her for a lady before.

“This amuses you?” he inquires, stepping from behind the tree but not approaching her yet.

“I am no lady,” she states, still smiling. “I’m a simple girl, nothing more.”

“You are much more,” Ira counters, stepping into the clearing with her.

When he steps out of the shadows and into the moonlight, Síneag’s breath catches in her throat. His skin gleams in the light, almost shining with it, and his curls flash with reds and golds against his forehead.

“You are beautiful,” she murmurs, in awe of the man standing before her. A few men in the village are handsome and the occasional soldier, but never has she seen anyone so beautiful, excepting the angels painted in the Church.

He smiles down at her, giving her a glimpse of straight white teeth but not enough to confirm her suspicions.

“Why do you say I am more?” she asks, hoping to distract him and keep him from coming any closer until she knows what he is and what his intentions are. She still isn’t afraid, but neither is she stupid.

“I felt the magic you hold,” he answers, his eyes examining her face. “Never have I met one so young who is so powerful.”

“Good breeding will show,” Síneag answers, her voice bitter. It was what her mother always told her when they spoke of Síneag’s growing magic. It also echoes the words the villagers still throw at her whenever they can to disparage her and her parents.

“This displeases you?” Ira inquires, his tone puzzled.

“No, but it reminds me of cruel things said to me,” Síneag answers honestly. Something about this man makes her feel safe, but she can’t think of what or why.

“That anyone would disparage someone as powerful, and as beautiful, as you are surprises me.”

Síneag feels the blood rush to her face. This gorgeous stranger thinks her beautiful? Surely not, but the words do not feel like a lie. Not like Angus’s assurances that he worries for her safety.

“Would you sit with me?” he asks her from very close.

Síneag looks up, having not even realized she took her eyes from him, or how close he had come, now standing right before her. His hand is held out to her and the only reply Síneag can manage is to take his hand.

Ira sits, drawing her down with him and at the same time spreading his cloak wide so that she finds herself seated on his cloak rather than the damp ground.

Síneag looks down at her hand in his, realizing that his is cold to the touch and she feels no pulse to answer her own.

“You said you mean me no harm, yet you have asked me to sit with you, and it’s as if the lion has asked the lamb to sit down beside it,” Síneag says, remembering the bible lesson about lions and lambs that was read recently at the church in Inverness.

“How is that?” Ira asks, still holding her hand in his.

“I can see what you are,” Síneag answers. Her eyes search his face for other clues. She has never seen a man so pale, not even the church brothers or the noble lords in Inverness.

“And what am I?” he asks, his voice amused.

“_Fuilól_. Blood drinker,” Síneag whispers, watching for his reaction to her knowledge.

“And you are a witch,” he answers. “The church would see us both burned.”

“That is true,” Síneag answers, laughing again. “I find I fear you far less than I fear the church brothers and their fear mongering ways.”

“You do not fear me?” he inquires.

“No,” Síneag answers, meeting his eyes. She felt his power when she met them the first time, but he does not raise it now, confirming that she need not fear him.

“I am glad,” he says with a smile, leaning toward her.

When his lips meet hers, Síneag lets her eyes close. She’s distracted from the first kiss she’s ever received from a man because behind her eyelids she sees the web that binds him. A Mistress who made Ira, and the master who made her, and the Mistress who made him, and all the other _fuilól_ children the three have made and all those descended from them. It’s like a glimpse of someone’s family line only there is magic behind the blood-ties instead of sex and childbirth.

She registers that his lips are soft, and that his other hand rests gently on her shoulder, the thumb brushing over her neck, but her mind keeps looking at the web of _fuilóls_ he is revealing to her.

His Mistress is close by, with five others that she made and another woman who was made by his Mistress’s Master’s Mistress.

Síneag notices when his lips leave hers, but the web stays behind her eyes. She will have it as long as he touches her.

“You taste of innocence,” Ira murmurs his thumb brushing higher on her neck to touch her pulse. She can feel it beating against his thumb and his own pulse matching it.

“The unwanted usually remain so,” Síneag answers, trying to keep the sadness from her voice as she opens her eyes.

“No longer unwanted,” he says, his eyes locking on hers as he leans in again, kissing her more firmly, his tongue gently parting her lips.

Síneag moans, as heat rushes through her belly to spread throughout her body. Her sister sometimes spoke to her of what it was like to be with a man, of the heat and passion she feels with Angus in the marriage bed, but Síneag never imagined she could feel something so strong from something as simple as a kiss. The priests would call her a harlot for this, but her mother raised her to know better. The joining of man and woman is a thing of beauty, and of praise to the Goddess and God, not the dirty thing the Christian priests make it out to be.

Ira draws back, and Síneag leans to follow him, but his hand on her shoulder is firm.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, opening her eyes again. His have bled to power again.

“I do not wish to harm you,” he says, and his voice is husky with something dark behind it.

“You won’t,” Síneag says, again certain in a way she cannot explain.

“I can not take you with my gaze, and it would be pain otherwise. I would simply hold you but I have not fed.”

Síneag stares at his face for a moment, trying to piece together his explanation.

“Feeding you won’t kill me, will it?” she asks, having never heard whether those bitten by a single _fuilól_ can survive. She knows that as few as four can drain enough to kill a grown man.

“No, a single bite will only leave you temporarily weak,” he answers, his grip on her shoulder still very firm.

“If you could take me with your gaze, what would it be?” Without would be pain, but what is it with? Her parents had never seen a _fuilól_ themselves, so neither knew what stories to believe and Síneag has heard so many stories.

“It would be pleasure,” he answers, leaning closer again.

“Try,” Síneag tells him, meeting his power-laden eyes.

“You would feed me?” he asks.

“I think I would do a great many things for you,” she answers, still staring into his eyes. There is some draw to him that she doesn’t understand, some attraction of mind, body, and magic she finds hard to resist.

Ira looks surprised for a moment before gazing tenderly down at her.

Síneag feels his power breathing into her again, and she doesn’t resist its push into her, letting him in. As that cool wind washes into her through their locked eyes, Síneag sighs. Being in the clearing was peaceful, but this is more. This is peace and safety and being wrapped in the arms of someone who will care for you. She doesn’t remember closing her eyes or Ira folding her in against him.

The next thing she recalls clearly is his soft lips brushing against her neck and then a sharp pinch. That small discomfort is followed by a bliss she cannot even describe. Never has she felt anything so intense, so pleasurable, so wonderful in every way.

She giggles when his tongue glides over her neck, catching the droplets of blood before they can reach her shift. He’s holding her in his lap now and her arms are wrapped around his chest. Síneag doesn’t remember moving, but she doesn’t care.

#

“I think I would do a great many things for you.”

Ira is startled by her admission, but quickly hides his emotions away. It’s never safe to show too much, and this is no exception. Her eyes continue to hold his as she gazes calmly at the power in his eyes. Once again he pushes that power outward to pull her under, and this time, he feels her sink under the sway of his power with a soft sigh. She trusts him completely yet knows absolutely nothing about him.

Pushing his doubts away, Ira draws her surprisingly small form into his lap. She is almost painfully thin, and obviously does not often get to eat her fill. A poor peasant. He pushes the pity away as well. It is already past midnight and he must return at least two hours before dawn to grace his Mistress’s bed.

When he draws the girl close against his chest, her arms fold around him, holding him close as he kisses her neck just above that fluttering pulse. She smells intoxicating this close and he has to close his eyes and concentrate in order to control his desires. He wants so much more than just her blood.

Opening his eyes again, he bites down, the first taste of blood sweet against his tongue. Sealing his lips around the wound he draws more harshly than is his custom. Not only is her blood sweet, and better than any he has tasted before, but power slips between his lips with that blood and he can feel the rush of it joining and fueling his own. If he were still a young vampire he would risk taking too much and leaving her ill, and in her malnourished state possibly killing her, but he has more control now, and pulls away before her heart begins to panic.

Ira watches the twin trails of blood as they seep down her neck but leans over to lick them away before they can reach her shift. Her giggle makes his lips curve so that he is smiling down at her when she opens her eyes.

“How do you feel?” he inquires, studying her face and finding only satisfaction there even though he has pulled his power away from her again.

“Wonderful,” she replies in a soft dreamy voice, gazing up at him with contented eyes and a smile on her lips.

“I do not even know your name,” he says, one hand rising to caress her cheek.

“Síneag,” she tells him.

“Such a lovely name,” he replies, almost out of habit. Flattery is one of his best defenses dealing with Aurélie or any of their little traveling kiss for that matter.

“If you say so,” she answers.

“Tell me of your life here,” he murmurs, hoping she will comply without any persuasion. After only a single feeding, he feels more powerful, stronger, more secure. What could he gain from a second feeding? Or from making her his? The calculating part of him says not to wait, to claim her before another does, but he will not rip her away from a loving family as his Mistress did to him.

“I live with my sister and her husband and help take care of their boys,” Síneag says softly, leaning her head on his shoulder as she talks. The movement angles her face so that he cannot see the expression on it, but he can feel the change in how she holds her body.

“Are you unhappy there?” he asks, wondering why she is not with her parents.

“They only took me in because I had nowhere else to go and good Christians don’t turn away those in need,” she says, sneering out the word “Christians” as if the word itself leaves a foul taste in her mouth. “My parents are dead three years. No man will ever offer for me, and Angus will not keep me forever.”

“I would keep you forever,” Ira murmurs before he realizes what he is saying.

“What?” she asks, looking up at him in surprise.

“You are lovely, have treated me with kindness, and do not fear me. I feel already that I could keep you forever if you would let me.” A reasonable recovery, Ira assures himself, and truth as far as it goes.

“But I do not have forever,” Síneag answers. “You do.”

“I could give you forever, if you wanted,” he answers, gazing into her eyes again. Without really knowing why, he thinks he would give her the whole world.

“You would do that?” Surprise colors her voice again.

“If you would stay with me,” Ira answers. If he made her his Human Servant he would never willingly part from her again.

“Just like that?”

“I do not believe it is so simple, and it would not be so quickly. I would have to mark you four times before we could have forever. You need not make that decision now.”

“But I need to make _a_ decision now?” she asks, her face serious now as she watches him.

“You are powerful,” Ira tells her, hoping she will not reject his offer. “Those I travel with will hunt here before we leave, and one might find you. They would not be kind to you.”

“They would kill me, wouldn’t they?” she asks. There is no fear in her voice, no hint of it in her body. Death does not frighten her.

“It is likely,” he replies.

“And if I say ‘yes’ tonight?”

“Then you would be mine, and none could touch you,” he answers. A Human Servants is a vampire’s most precious possession and to harm the servant of another is tantamount to harming them. Even Aurélie or their _sourdre de sang_ would not harm her unless they had decided to kill him as well.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” he assures her, smiling. “I have spoken to one who experienced it, and the first two have no physical sensation at all. The third would feel much as what we have already done tonight.”

“The third you drink from me?”

“And the fourth you would drink from me,” Ira adds, so that she at least knows that much going in.

“And with the fourth I would live forever?”

“You will live as long as I live,” he corrects. Vampires are not truly immortal as the legends say. There are ways they can be killed.

“You would keep me forever?” she asks, doubt in her voice.

“If you will let me,” Ira answers, and kisses her again, hoping to display just how much he would like to keep her.

Her arms tighten around Ira, and she clings to him as his tongue caresses hers. She is tentative in her response, and this only heightens his desire for her. A complete innocent, one that could be his, only his, and always his.

Ira breaks the kiss before his desire runs away with him.

“I would need to gather some things from my sister’s,” Síneag says thoughtfully.

“Would you?” he asks, wondering if this means she wishes to be his as well.

“I have nothing here,” she tells him, her face earnest as she speaks. “I lost everything three years ago. That you should find me tonight is no accident. I will go with you, but I must return home to gather my things and to tell my sister goodbye.”

“Let me give you the first two marks, then you may return home, and I will return for you tomorrow night.”

“You will not leave me behind?”

“Never,” Ira answers, kissing her again as he carves a piece of his power away to give to her.

Síneag moans softly as he gently presses the first and second mark into her, claiming her as his and beginning to join his life with hers.

“That was amazing,” she murmurs when their lips part.

“Síneag?” he queries.

“The first time I kissed you, I could see them all, but this time it was only you, I could see you do it, feel our powers beginning to meld. It felt amazing.”

“You felt it?” he asks, confused. He was told the servant could not feel it. That with the second they could sometimes see it, but never feel it.

“My magic, I think,” she says, smiling a soft private smile. “I see the things that bind people together: their emotions, their obligations, their magic. When you kissed me before, I could see all those you are tied to, your Mistress, her master, his Mistress and all their children and their children’s children. I could trace them all, if I wanted to. I could feel how close your Mistress is and the others she has made that travel with you and the other woman.”

“Very powerful,” Ira murmurs and kisses her again. He was always cautioned not to choose a servant in haste but she is perfect and they have only just met.

When their lips part again, she holds him fiercely for a moment. “I already feel as if I should never be parted from you,” she whispers. “But we must part.”

“I will return for you tomorrow night. Meet me here at midnight.”

“How much can I bring?” she asks, looking up at him again.

“As much as you like,” Ira answers. She is far too thin to own more than she can carry on her own.

“I will be here at midnight,” she says, and the words feel like a promise.

“And I will be waiting for you,” Ira answers, clasping her close as he gets to his feet, so that, at least for a moment, he holds her in his arms before setting her on her feet again.

“Until tomorrow,” she says with a smile before scampering off into the woods.

Ira lets himself smile for a moment as he watches her go then schools his face to the mask he has worn for most of the past two hundred years: a pleasantly bored expression that can hide even the strongest emotions.


	2. Sealing Forever

Síneag slips back into the house with dawn far too close on her heels. Thankfully, everyone is still asleep, so she can curl up on her pallet by the fire without anyone being the wiser. She’s careful to lie on her right side so the bite won’t show if her hair falls away from her neck. Surely, with only one day to survive, she can hide such a small thing.

The noise of birds and the neighbor’s cow wake her with the sun. Having gotten almost no sleep, Síneag is loath to move but forces herself up. After readjusting her tartan and tightening her belt, she goes about stirring the fire to heat the gruel and preparing for the day. Before she came to live with them, Sheona had to do these early morning chores. Now, Síneag does them, and this morning, like so many mornings, she can hear Angus’s grunts as he beds her sister. When he enjoys her charms at night, Sheona will sometimes make encouraging noises or talk softly to him while he does it, but in the morning, Sheona knows Síneag is awake and keeps herself silent.

Síneag smiles this morning, wondering what it will be like to lie with a man. The way Ira kissed her last night felt amazing, and she can only imagine how much more it could be.

As Angus’s heavy breathing fades, Síneag quickly schools her face, wiping the smile away and replacing it with the calm expression she always wears. Angus once compared her to the nuns they see at the church because Síneag always has a serene look on her face. Síneag refrained from telling him that she is as sure of her religion as the nuns are of theirs. It would only make him angry and the one time she’d done that, the first month she lived with them, he’d hit her hard enough to knock her down.

By the time Angus and Sheona come out to join her, Síneag has put Ira firmly out of her thoughts and has breakfast ready and their day’s bread dough rising in the bowl by the fire.

“Good morning, Síneag,” Sheona greets her.

“Good morning,” Síneag replies so that her greeting can include Angus as well.

“I hope you slept well,” Sheona continues.

“I did, and you?”

“Very,” Sheona answers, with a small smile.

Síneag recognizes that smile. Her sister gets it every time Angus’s attentions have lasted long enough to give her that special rush she talks about. Sheona thinks it only happens when they make a child together and she wants a daughter after two sons and three miscarriages.

The day goes by as any other has for the past three years. Síneag does more of the work than she used to. Realizing that, she has a momentary pang of guilt for leaving her sister but can’t turn back now. Whenever her hands slow and her mind wanders, she finds herself thinking about Ira and how gently he held her and how tenderly he spoke to her.

When Angus and Sheona are both gone from the house, Síneag takes a moment to hurriedly pack away her best clothes and the few trinkets she has collected since the fire. It all fits neatly tied in one of her old shifts so she puts it back with her other clothes, folding her second tartan over it so she won’t forget it tonight.

Supper is a chaotic affair, as usual. Síneag does her best to manage the two boys so that Angus and Sheona can both eat uninterrupted, but the younger one will not settle until his mother lets him sit on her lap to eat his soup. After the meal is cleared away and the children as neat as they’re going to get, Síneag helps her sister put them to bed, tucking the older one in as Sheona tends to the younger one.

Angus announces that he is going to talk with the men, before leaving the house. Síneag is relieved, but she notices her sister’s disappointment.

“Do not fret,” Síneag tells her, placing a comforting hand on her arm.

“I’m fine,” Sheona assures her.

“Can we talk a little before we seek our beds?” Síneag asks, wanting to tell her sister, if not the truth, at least enough to know Síneag left willingly.

“Let us sit by the fire,” Sheona answers with a smile.

Síneag lets her sister have the chair and settles on the hearthstone with her back to the fire. When they both lived at home, they would sit like this in the quite of the evening and talk. Gazing up at her smiling older sister, Síneag is sure that Sheona does not yearn for those days long ago when they were children together.

“I’ve been thinking that it will be time for me to leave soon,” Síneag says.

“Why?” Sheona asks, seeming startled.

“Angus would prefer me elsewhere, surely you can see that,” Síneag answers.

The look on Sheona’s face is answer enough. Angus has told his wife as much. Síneag would swear to it.

“I’m well enough known in Inverness that I could find a place as a domestic with one of the ladies who gives me sewing work,” she continues. “Or I could find some other employment. I will go soon, and I wanted to be sure I told you a few things before I left you.”

“You speak as if we would never see each other again. Surely I will see you at church if you are in Inverness.”

“I could go every week,” Síneag offers, hoping to distract her sister.

“That would be better than once a month.”

Having averted the protests, Síneag continues. “You taking me in has been wonderful. I can’t thank you enough for that, and I love your boys. I know they will grow into fine men one day.”

“Yes, like their father,” Sheona says, beaming.

Síneag chooses not to comment on their father. She would not call him a “fine man” unless forced.

“I will always be grateful to you for that and for all you have given me, and I’ll love you forever as my dearest sister,” Síneag presses on, making sure that she has said the most important things. “I’ll miss you when I go.”

“I’ll miss you too, little sister,” Sheona says, leaning down to touch Síneag’s hair and brush it behind her ear.

“Is she leaving?” Angus asks from the doorway.

Both women turn to look at him, having not expected him back for hours.

“Soon,” Síneag answers, hoping that will be the end of it.

“Finally find someone who will take you off our hands?” he sneers.

“She’s planning to find work,” Sheona answers in her sister’s defense.

“The kind that has men nibbling on her neck?” Angus asks, pointing at Síneag.

Síneag’s hand flies to her neck, hoping to hide the bite from her sister as she gets to her feet.

“What are you talking about?” Sheona asks, glancing between them as Síneag shakes her hair over her neck again.

“She’s got a mark like some bloke bit her, doesn’t take much to see she’s lying to you and about to run off.”

“Síneag?” Sheona asks, her voice pleading.

“I never lied to you,” she says forcefully, refusing to do so now either.

“But you’ve been whoring out to some bloke so he’ll take you.”

“I have not,” Síneag almost shouts.

“Angus,” Sheona says, shocked at his behavior.

“She’s been sneaking off at night, coming back near dawn, what else is she doing but whoring.”

“I am no ones whore,” Síneag snaps.

“You not even getting them to pay you?” Angus asks. “Just giving it away then?”

Sheona is beside herself now over her husband’s behavior.

“I have not,” Síneag says, putting emphasis on each word in a dangerously low voice.

Sheona gets to her feet and goes to Angus, remembering how Síneag’s temper could flare when her voice sounded like that as a child.

“How long have we housed an impure wonton wretch?” Angus asks, his eyes blazing.

“I am every bit as pure as I have ever been,” Síneag replies, her voice still low and even. “I am as pure this minute as Sheona was the day she married you.”

“How dare you imply such things about my wife,” Angus says, pushing Sheona out of the way and advancing on Síneag.

“I implied nothing,” Síneag protests, backing away. “Sheona was a pure virgin bride, and so would I be if I were to go to the church this minute.”

“Liar,” Angus snaps, hitting Síneag hard across the face.

Síneag stumbles with the impact, coming to her knees on her own pallet next to her little basket of clothes. Tears well in her eyes as the pain roars through her head.

“Fine,” she hisses through clenched teeth, grabbing her tartan and the shift tied around her belongings. “If you want me out of your house, I will leave.”

Getting to her feet faster than Angus is expecting, Síneag makes it half way to the door before he reacts, and by then she is running and she has always been quicker than him.

She doesn’t hear what he roars at her from the doorway—and doesn’t care—she just keeps running, her belongings clutched to her chest as she flees from his house and his village. Once inside the safety of the woods, her tears slow and she can breathe easier. She still clutches her belongings close against her as she walks, wishing she could have hugged her sister one last time and kissed the boys goodbye.

It’s hours until midnight when she arrives at the clearing. Unfolding her spare tartan, Síneag wraps it around herself and settles in the shadows against a tree, her belongings pressed against her stomach and her knees drawn up in front of her. At least here in the woods she can have peace while she waits for Ira to come for her.

#

“There is something different about you tonight, Gabriel,” Ira’s Mistress purrs as she circles around him. He has never liked the name she gave him, but uses it to protect his true self and his true name.

“Is there, Mistress?” he replies, hoping to evade answering until he has Síneag at his side.

“Some new hint of power to you,” she continues, her eyes roving over his trim body dressed in the latest fashion, as is her desire.

“The better to serve you, Mistress,” he answers. It’s what he has said to Aurélie every time she’s noticed some new power he exhibited or he’s confessed some new ability.

“But what is it, Gabriel?” she asks, still circling like the predatory creature she is.

“I have yet to discover its potential,” Ira answers, giving her truth without revealing that he has taken a servant. He is hoping Síneag will consent to the third mark tonight when he meets her so that she will be more securely his when presented to his Mistress and Mussette.

“You will have to do so,” she says before turning away.

“Of course, Mistress,” he replies obediently. He’ll have to speak with Síneag tonight about what she can do, or at least what they can confess her abilities to be.

“Go, hunt, I have no more need of you tonight, Gabriel,” Aurélie calls over her shoulder.

Grateful that he will not be called to her bed before dawn this night, Ira slips out of their current lodgings and takes to the air. He wants to be waiting for her so that if any of the others are hunting nearby he will sense them. When he lands in the clearing something is wrong. Last night the place was full of peace and contentment and now the air tastes of sorrow and pain.

Ira’s eyes quickly scan the area and come to a stop on a bundle of plaid huddled against a tree.

“Síneag?” he asks, fearing that she is hurt in some way.

She raises a tear streaked face to him and Ira is instantly beside her on his knees, pulling her into his arms.

“Hush,” he murmurs to her, cradling her face against his chest as she cries. “What has happened?” he asks, using what power he has to soothe her.

She sighs softly as his power wraps around her. “Her husband was angry, he accused me of being a whore,” she whispers.

“Did he hurt you?” Ira asks, suddenly worried that the man did more that speak harshly to her.

“He hit me,” she murmurs, almost inaudible. “He hasn’t done that since the first month I stayed with them.”

“He will never touch you again,” Ira promises. “Anyone who lays a hand on you will answer to me now,” he adds, fighting to keep the anger from his voice.

Síneag looks up at him, her eyes still glittering with tears.

“You are mine, and I will let no one harm you,” he says, putting conviction behind his words and letting that surety breathe across her skin with his power.

“Yours forever?” she asks, her voice still soft but less laden with sadness now.

“Not quite forever yet, but soon.”

“Why not now?” she asks, gazing up at him.

“You are certain?” Ira questions, wanting to be absolutely sure of her.

“More certain than I have ever been of anything,” Síneag answers and Ira knows it to be the truth.

“Then let me make you mine forever,” he murmurs, kissing her lips softly. “I will use my gaze to take the pain away when I cut you, but will release you so you will be free to make the bond.”

Síneag nods where she sits in his lap.

Ira smiles down at her tenderly, kissing her forehead before quickly opening his shirt and adjusting the neck of her shift. “Let me see your eyes,” he murmurs.

Síneag looks up and, for the second time in two nights, surrenders herself to his power.

Ira quickly makes the small cut just over her heart and a matching one over his own before releasing her mind. “I will speak four lines while we do this,” he explains. On the second, I will taste your blood, and on the fourth, you must taste mine, then we will seal our bond with a kiss, our blood mingling on our lips.”

Síneag nods, her eyes watching the blood on Ira’s chest.

“Blood of my blood,” Ira says, watching Síneag’s face. “Flesh of my flesh.”

Ira leans down and licks across the cut he made on her chest, her blood still sweet as he swallows it down, before kissing the wound, leaving the blood on his lips.

“Breath to breath,” he continues with his eyes on her face once more. He nods when she glances up at his eyes.

“My heart to yours,” he murmurs as Síneag’s tongue glides over his skin. He feels her kiss his wound as he did hers before looking up at him.

When their lips meet both marks fall into place. Ira sees Síneag laughing with her sister: by the fireside with their mother behind them, working beside each other at the washtub, whispering together in the dark in their small bed near the hearth, and a thousand small touches and words exchanged. He shares with her his brother: running with him through the fields in Brittany, learning swordplay together, shared meals by an open fire when they first went off to be soldiers, sleeping beside each other in the tent they pitched for the night. With the memories comes a rush of power like nothing Ira has felt before. He will not have long before his Mistress calls him back to explain.

“Forever?” Síneag asks in a whisper, arms wrapped around him and her face buried against his neck.

“Forever,” he promises, kissing her hair. “You will be protected from much that the others can do because you are mine. If anyone asks you to do something that you do not like, simply tell them you need my permission and they will have to find me before they can do anything more. I will keep you at my side as much as possible, that I swear to you always,” he adds, hoping that it will reassure her.

She nods against him, still holding on tightly.

Ira feels his Mistress calling him.

“We must go now,” he says, petting her back gently. “My Mistress calls.”

“And you must answer,” Síneag replies, slipping out of his lap to stand on her own with the second tartan draped across her shoulders. She quickly adjusts her shift and pulls the tartan more firmly around herself, still holding the small bundle of her belongings in one hand.

“I must answer,” Ira agrees, sweeping her up into his arms and tucking her face against his neck again. “I will not let you fall,” he promises before rising into the air. With her magic to bolster him, carrying her is not taxing, and they arrive at the lodgings more quickly than Ira expected, landing behind them so that the humans will not see.

“And who is this you have brought?” his Mistress demands from where she stands at the back door.

“My Human Servant,” Ira answers, setting Síneag on her feet to stand beside him.

She stands straight and proud and looks up at Ira’s Mistress boldly.

“Indeed?” Aurélie purrs, coming down to circle them. “And what did you want with a peasant?” she asks.

Síneag looks up at Ira and smiles as she lets a little of her power leak out, not enough to give herself away, but enough for it to touch the other vampire as she circles them.

“Is that what I felt? You sealing her as yours?” Aurélie demands.

“I believe so, Mistress,” Ira answers. “Even after only two marks, you seemed to feel some change in me,” he adds.

“My, my, you have found an interesting peasant,” she says, her finger caressing across Síneag’s shoulders.

“She is mine,” Ira says, moving his arm around Síneag in such a way that Aurélie cannot touch her anymore.

“So possessive,” his Mistress purrs before laughing. “Fine, take your little peasant to your rooms then. We will see tomorrow night what use she will be to us.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Ira answers, immediately guiding Síneag inside and down to the room that was given to him. Once inside, Ira locks the door behind them and pulls Síneag into his arms briefly before guiding her further into the room.

“I will stay here with you?” she asks, gazing at the opulently appointed chamber.

“Yes,” Ira replies, watching her reaction.

“Will I have to leave you during the day to find food?” she asks, turning concerned eyes to him. “I do not want to leave you.”

“We will find you something to eat before dawn,” Ira answers. “Then you may sleep while I sleep, and not have to leave my side.”

Síneag smiles at his reply, setting her bundle of belongings on the floor beside the wardrobe and folding her tartan over them.

“Come, there is much I need to tell you before dawn,” Ira says, inviting her to sit with him on the divan in the corner. Once seated, Ira pulls her against his body so she is nestled under his arm. Síneag draws her legs up, and Ira notices that she’s still barefoot. _Is she so poor that she has no shoes at all?_ _It does not matter_, he reminds himself, _for now she is mine and I can afford to give her everything she desires and more._

#

Síneag feels safe cuddled close against Ira even though she can feel the other _fuilól_ moving around outside his room.

“Being mine is what will protect you,” Ira says softly to her. “You must always be careful to remind them who you belong to.”

“How?” Síneag has never dealt with anyone but the villagers, the brothers at the church, and the women who gave her sewing work. None of that seems good preparation for dealing with _fuilól_.

“When others are around, call me ‘master,’ both when addressing me and when referring to me. It will remind them that you are mine and give the appearance of subservience. That appearance will keep you safe as well.”

“And they call you Gabriel, yes?” It seems odd that he should have another name.

“It is the name my Mistress gave me. I keep my own name for those I can trust.”

Síneag smiles, happy that he felt he could trust her immediately.

“As much as possible you will remain here when I am not there to protect you from them. We will find provisions to keep so you need not leave for those.”

“You fear they would hurt me?” Síneag questions. If he is one of them, would she not be an asset for all of them?

“I fear they would try to take advantage of you, especially if they discover how innocent you are.”

“Innocent?” Síneag’s forehead crinkles as she tries to figure out what type of innocence he means. She’s seen seventeen winters and that leaves very little that she has yet to experience.

“Not all vampires are alike,” Ira begins, signaling to Síneag that there is much more to his comment than she anticipated. “There are many lines, each with their own _sourdre de sang_, or fountain of blood. Ours is Belle Morte, Beautiful Death, and this dictates much about our powers and our nature.”

“Beautiful Death?” It seems a strange name to Síneag.

“It is a title, more than a name,” he says with a gentle smile for her. “The powers of our line relate to her power, the _ardeur_, which feeds on sex.”

“Oh,” she says, blushing at what kind of innocence he was referring to.

“There is no shame in that, little one,” Ira promises, curling down to hold her close for a moment.

“I know, but the thought of anyone else…”

“Hush, love, there will be no one else.”

Síneag nods against his chest, still blushing because she wonders what it will be like with him.

“They will understand to an extent that I do not wish to share you with anyone, having just made you mine, we will have time to know one another before they begin to press either of us for what we will not give.”

Síneag nods again, glad that he has no intentions of sharing her with the other _fuilól_. She wouldn’t want to let them in like she had Ira.

“There are some things about my life that I cannot change, even for you,” Ira continues, his hand gently rubbing her back. The web of _fuilól_ his touch lets her see does not overwhelm her now, but she can see the bond between her and Ira and feel how much he cares for her and how much what he just said hurts him.

“What can’t you change?” she asks, turning her head so her cheek rests against his chest.

“I belong to my Mistress, more fully and completely than any human can belong to another. I cannot refuse her orders,” he explains. “Or her bed,” he adds softly.

“I must share you?” Síneag asks, already unhappy with the idea.

“I am sorry, my little love,” he says, stroking her hair. “I would change it if I could.”

“She is your Mistress. I must understand that,” Síneag tells him.

“Thank you,” he says and she can feel his gratitude. She isn’t used to getting emotions when she concentrates on a bond, but this is different somehow.

“Am I supposed to be feeling what you feel?” Síneag asks.

“Yes, when we are not actively shielding the connection you can share my thoughts, my emotions, even my memories. I am told it takes time to adjust to it.”

“Are Human Servants usually practitioners?”

“No, little one, usually they are just gifted humans.”

“It may not take as long. I already know how to shield, how to move my own magic. It would make sense that I would have an easier time working with yours as well.”

“Perhaps,” Ira concedes. “Is there anything else you wish to know at the moment?”

“No, there will be plenty of time.”

“Good. We should go find provisions for you to keep in our room.”

Síneag smiles. He’s already using “our.”


	3. Finding Home

For the first three days Síneag stays safely in Ira’s room during the day and only leaves the room at night with him by her side. She sleeps wrapped in a blanket and curled in his arms and feels safer than she has any night of the past three years. Ira feeds from her each night when he wakes and each time it is more amazing than the last.

Síneag is curled up in his cold embrace with the blanket keeping her warm on the fourth evening. She watches Ira’s face, waiting for the little smile he gives when he wakes and finds her beside him still.

When that small smile appears tonight, Síneag leans up and plants a gentle kiss against it, the first time she has initiated a kiss between them. She feels shy about it, uncertain in the face of his experience. Her Ira is more than 200 years old and comes from a line of _fuilól_ that deal in seduction and sex as their coin, their power, and their means to acquire both food and new _fuilól_, and she is still young even for a human.

“Hello, _ma karantez bihan_,” Ira murmurs, his eyes opening as his hand comes up to gently touch her face.

“_Ma karantez bihan_?” Síneag asks as she rubs her face against his palm.

“My little love,” Ira translates for her. “In my mother tongue,” he adds.

“What tongue is that?” Síneag watches his face. Over the past three nights she has told him so much about her life but she knows almost nothing about his.

“I spoke only Breton as a child, and later picked up a bit of French.”

“So that was Breton?”

“Yes. It’s what I revert to most easily, though French and English are second nature to me now.”

“I know enough English to pass,” Síneag admits, “but not every Englishman can understand what I always used at home or in the village.”

“You will get better the more you use your English. When you are comfortable with that, I can teach you French.”

Síneag laughs. “I can hardly imagine me learning French.”

“What is wrong with you learning French?” Ira asks, brushing her hair back from her face.

“French is something the rich teach their daughters, not something a village girl like me would learn.”

“You are not a village girl now,” Ira reminds her. “You are my Human Servant, and that gives you more value than any number of rich daughters.”

“Why thank you,” she answers, smiling over at him as she wiggles closer, wondering when he will ask to feed, and where. He has already fed from both sides of her neck, both wrists and inside one elbow.

“I must let you rest tonight, _ma karantez bihan_.”

“Rest?” Síneag has been sleeping all day, why would she need to rest?

“I cannot feed from you every night, Síneag,” Ira explains, still stroking her hair. “I must hunt tonight, which means leaving you here alone.”

“They will leave me be?”

“I will leave you the key to lock yourself in, and I will return as soon as I can, _karantez_.”

“I’ll be fine,” Síneag promises. “Go, hunt, and come back to me.”

“As my lady commands,” Ira says with a soft laugh as he rises from their bed and dresses for the day. She has yet to see him nude, and even seeing him without his shirt brings blood rushing to her face, but still she wonders what it will be like to touch him, all of him.

When Ira is ready he takes the key and presents it to her. Taking it from his hand, Síneag slides off the bed, keeping the blanket wrapped around herself as she walks to the door. She will lock it behind him and then lay down again, he can wake her when he returns and she will let him in. Still smiling, she curls up on the bed again, closing her eyes and imagining what it will be like with the feel of his skin beneath her hands and his touch on her body.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep but wakes to someone pounding on the door.

“I know you are in there. Answer,” a man demands through the door.

Síneag slides from the bed and approaches the door. It is one of the others that Ira’s Mistress made.

“Who is it?” Síneag asks softly.

“Raphael,” the man snaps. “You are wanted.”

“I have not been given permission to go out tonight,” Síneag says, her voice apologetic.

“Permission?” Raphael asks, laughing. “Surely he is not so controlling as all that?”

“He may return any moment and I will not be missing when he does,” Síneag replies, trying to keep her voice firm. She is not used to ordering anyone and is unsure how to speak to those who might be seen as above Ira.

Raphael laughs again.

“Is there something I can help you with, Raphael?” Ira asks.

Síneag smiles broadly, relieved to have him back.

“Aurélie wished to speak with your Servant,” Raphael answers.

“I will bring her down when she has readied herself for the night,” Ira tells his fellow.

“Do not bother,” Raphael tells him. “She has changed her mind.”

Síneag hears Raphael’s footsteps fade before Ira taps on their door.

“It is safe to let me in, _ma karantez bihan_.”

Síneag quickly unlocks the door and smiles brightly for him as he joins her in the small space that has become more her home in three days that Angus and Sheona’s house did in three years.

“The night is ours now,” Ira tells her, leading her back toward the bed. “Let us enjoy what is left of it.”

“I cannot help enjoying it if you are with me,” Síneag tells him. She feels foolish admitting it, but sees no reason to hide the fact from Ira.

“Every moment with you brings joy to my heart as well,” Ira says, leaning down to kiss her tenderly, his lips softly caressing hers as his hands glide up her arms.

Síneag shivers when his hands reach her shoulders and glide over bare skin. Her hands have balled into fists, clinging to the front of his shirt as she presses as close to him as possible. She craves his touch whenever he is near her but this is something more. It feels almost primal.

_“We must go slowly, _ma karantez bihan_,”_ Ira cautions her silently.

_“As long as we go, I am happy to go slowly,”_ Síneag answers him, relaxing her fists so she can slide her arms around his neck.

Ira lifts her easily in his arms, and Síneag wraps her legs around his waist, clinging to him with her whole body. When he arrives at the bed, Ira gently guides her legs and arms away from him so that she is lying on the sheets gazing up at him.

“Patience, _ma karantez_,” he says with a soft chuckle. “We have all night.”

Síneag nods, stilling her hands, which itch to explore his skin, as she watches him remove his jacket, followed by the fabric at his neck, his vest, and his shirt. When his chest is bare, she can resist no longer. Sitting up, she reaches out to trail her fingers over his chest.

Ira shivers but his skin is warm again.

Síneag looks up at his face, uncertain again.

“Your touch is wonderful,” Ira murmurs to her. “Surely you recognize the reaction,” he adds, smiling down at her as he lets one hand glide over her shoulder toward her neck.

Síneag shivers, smiling when she realizes that her touch gives him the same pleasure that his touch elicits in her. When Ira’s hand continues, it brushes over her neck and the mark from his feeding. She gasps, and shivers even more. It’s as if lightning were traveling through her from his touch straight to things low in her body.

“You have but to think or say that you wish to stop, and we will stop,” Ira says, his hand gliding into her hair.

“Yes,” Síneag replies, unable to think well enough to give a more complicated answer.

“May I look at you?” Ira asks, his hands guiding her shift over her shoulders but holding it up so it won’t fall away.

“If I can see you,” Síneag answers, her eyes locked on his, so she gets to see the surprise in them briefly before desire fills them again. She’d seen desire in the eyes of soldiers or local young men but never directed at her.

“As my lady wishes,” Ira says, kissing her again as he guides her shift down to pool at her waist.

When the kiss ends, Ira gazes at the bounty before him and has to fight not to frown. She is far too thin. He should not have fed on her for so many nights.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, to make sure she does not think he is ill pleased with her. “I will let you do the rest,” he adds with a wicked smile as he rises from the bed and unfastens his belt. The rustle of cloth behind him is more urgent than he expected.

Síneag is suddenly certain that she will experience something wonderful tonight. With her shift out of the way, she sits naked on the bed and watches as Ira slowly lowers his britches. He has his back to her so she can follow the clean line of his shoulder down to his hip and the long smooth line of his leg. His skin is perfect: the same softly glowing shade with nothing to distract from the strength and grace of him as he turns to face her.

She looks at all of him, eyes gliding along his chest, waist, and legs, before she lets herself stare at his manhood. She has never seen a man completely without clothes, and never one so obviously excited.

“Truly beautiful,” Ira murmurs, his own eyes devouring the sight of her nude form partially reclined in his bed.

Climbing in beside her, Ira lets a hand trail down her arm then across her hip and down her leg. Her skin is surprisingly soft for a village girl.

“May I touch you?” Síneag asks, her voice timid.

“Of course you may,” Ira answers quickly, leaning down to kiss her softly as her small hands begin to explore his chest, slowly making their way lower, to what she is most curious to touch.

Síneag feels like she’s on fire as her hands move over Ira’s body. Everywhere she touches only fans the flames and each caress of his hands on her directs that fire to collect low in her body. Nothing has ever felt like this before and all the while Ira kisses her tenderly.

She’s so lost in the sensations of it that it startles her when her fingertips brush against wiry curls. Ira’s lips leave hers, and it lets Síneag see what she’s touching. The dense patch of curls surrounds his manhood and trails upward toward his navel before fading into nothing just below it.

Gazing down at him, she lets her fingers glide through those curls before touching him with just her fingertips. His skin is so much softer here than anywhere else. She traces her fingers along the length of him slowly, savoring the silky feel on his skin.

Ira’s hand on her breast manages to distract her from her own exploration and she lets go of his manhood, afraid she will hurt him if she isn’t paying enough attention. Her breast fits in his hand as he strokes her with his fingers. When his thumb glides over her nipple Síneag moans softly.

“So beautiful,” Ira murmurs before kissing her again. Her hands on him was almost too much, but he could gaze at her and touch her smooth skin for the rest of the night and not be satisfied. As one hand explores her breast, the other smoothes over her stomach, hip, and around to gently cup hear rear. She moans into their kiss and wiggles a little beside him.

Síneag moans louder when Ira’s hand slips around to the front of her and he trails a finger gently through the damp curls between her legs. His touch is light, gentle, but somehow insistent as well. She finds herself arching into the touch, wanting more somehow.

Even though she is still shielding, more out of habit than anything else, it’s as if Ira can read her thoughts. His fingers move more firmly against her, gliding against sensitive flesh and drawing gasps and moans from Síneag with every movement and caress.

Ira lets his lips leave hers and trail down her jaw to her neck, kissing over his mark on her neck.

Síneag cries out, her hips leaving the bed. It’s as if pleasure has exploded from her center outward and comes in waves as Ira’s nimble fingers still caress her and his lips and tongue tease the healing bite on her neck.

She’s panting when the pleasure fades, replaced by a pleasant heaviness as she lies there content with her place in the world.

“Have you never felt that before?” Ira asks softly, his hands leaving her body briefly before he pulls her against him with one arm under her pillow and the other over her stomach.

“Nothing like that,” she confesses. If more of the villagers had believed and less of them had been Christians, she might have lost her maidenhood before now, but the ways of the Christians are different, and she would have been scorned had she lain with a man before a proper marriage, as they saw it.

“Such a gift, that I should be allowed to give you your first taste of such pleasures,” Ira murmurs, kissing her forehead. “Rest now, _ma karantez bihan_. I will wake you when it is time to go out for the night.”

Síneag nods against his shoulder, rolling onto her side to cuddle closer to him. Ira’s arms tighten around her, holding her close against his chest. He buries his face in her hair, enjoying the soft curls and the scent of her. Such a tender thing she is, and she has given herself completely to him. Some nights it still feels like a dream even though he has not had one in centuries. She can dream, and since she is his, he can walk in those dreams with her. Smiling, Ira closes his eyes and drifts as she sleeps curled in his arms. If she does dream tonight, he will join her.


	4. Desires and Dreams

Síneag sighs softly as she gazes down at her beloved Ira. He looks peaceful, almost as if he is only sleeping, but she knows the feel of a dead body, and he is truly dead. She thought it would unnerve her, but it hasn’t yet. She covers him with the heavy quilt before sliding from the bed and dressing for the day. At night she wears the pretty dress he bought her but during the day she wears her own things. It is safest for her. No one bothers a peasant running errands. She has his purse and the card she was told to show anyone that questions her. He still hasn’t told her what it says or whose seal is pressed in wax upon it.

As she locks him in, she thinks of the past few nights. He has taken her with him when he goes to hunt, leaving her perched in a tree in a secluded part of the forest before going to find someone to feed from. After that first night, when Raphael came to fetch her, he has not left her alone. She feels safer out in the forest than she does alone in his room. A wooden door is no protection against a _fuilól_, locked or not.

She smiles thinking about what happens after they return to their room for the night. Just imagining his hands on her brings a rush of warmth to her entire body. He is so gentle with her but somehow each encounter ends with the same overwhelming rush of pleasure as that first night. She is growing bolder as well, and she thinks tonight she might ask him to explain more of what she should do for him in return. Her mother explained enough that she knows how to couple with a man, but not how to give pleasure with just touches the way Ira can.

As she reaches the top of the stairs, she redirects her thoughts, concentrating on what she needs to purchase today. Each night Ira is given a list, which he helps her memorize, and then in the morning she goes to the market.

Aurélie doesn’t normally tolerate humans traveling with them and in Scotland they cannot bring the shapechangers, so Ira’s Mistress had been pleased to have someone who can move about during the day. Síneag suspects that Ira got something from Aurélie in return for having his Human Servant running errands. As he explained it, a _fuilól’s_ Human Servant is their most precious possession, and it is rare for them to go about alone, but he knows she can protect herself. It is much easier now that the marks on her neck have faded away to nothing.

Síneag enjoys the warmth of the sun beating down on her as she shops, collecting everything from her list as well as bread, cheese, and smoked meat for herself. Ira gave her a gold piece a week to spend on food for herself but she has yet to spend even a quarter of that sum and it has already been six days since her first trip into the market. The merchants are beginning to recognize her, and the few that have challenged her presence never do it twice, only having to see the card once before treating her politely and assisting her in her shopping.

It isn’t even noon when she returns to the abandoned castle where Aurélie and her small kiss are staying while they wait for the woman they escort. Ira has yet to name her, or tell Síneag anything about her or why they travel. He has explained so much about the _fuilól_ in the past several days. How they live in a group, called a kiss, with a single Master, usually referred to as the Master of the City. Aurélie’s kiss is different because they do not have a territory of their own, but Aurélie is still their Mistress as well as their maker.

Síneag locks the heavy door behind herself, leaving the key outside the kitchens as she was instructed. She lays out the purchases for Aurélie in the sitting room. Ira instructed her on how to do it so that each item will be well displayed and easily found as soon as Aurélie comes into the room. With that accomplished, she returns to their room, locking the door behind her and setting the food in the basket next to the wardrobe.

Going to her beloved Ira to reassure herself that he is well, Síneag kisses his cheek. She gazes at him a moment before returning to the basket and breaking her fast. Then she changes back into the long silk nightgown Ira gave her and curls up beside him wrapped in another quilt. She feels so peaceful with him beside her, even though he is not truly there during the day. She sleeps away the hours so she will not have to miss him.

#

Ira comes to life again with a small shudder, smiling as he catches the scent of his Síneag beside him. He opens his eyes as he turns onto his side, drawing her against his chest. She is so warm, but she slumbers, and he does not have the heart to wake her. Gazing down at her serene face, he smiles even wider, so happy that he found her that night while he was hunting.

Síneag stirs, yawning with a small squeak as she wakes.

“Did you rest well, my dearest?” Ira asks, gently petting her hair.

“Yes, my love,” she answers, her gray green eyes gazing up at him. “I always sleep soundly with you beside me.”

Ira smiles down at her, laying a soft kiss on her lips before slipping from the bed. He is loath to give up her warmth but the sooner he hunts, the more time they will have after. Aurélie promised him he could have his nights to himself until they left this place in exchange for his Human Servant doing her daylight errands. Traveling to Scotland always annoys Aurélie because they cannot bring any of her werefoxes with them. Too many of the Scottish Masters of the City also call foxes and will not allow hers to come through their territory.

“Will we be going far tonight?” Síneag asks from behind him as he dresses.

“Further than last night,” he answers. He has a pattern when he hunts, to make sure he is not too often in the same place. Being able to fly so easily, even with Síneag in his arms, has been a great advantage in concealing them.

“I will bring my meal with me then,” she says, and Ira can hear the rustle of her dress as she dons it. He knows she looks exceptional in the muted green silk.

“Of course,” he replies, turning to gaze at her as she crouches beside her basket. He can smell meat, which pleases him. She eats far too little but he cannot get her to eat more and does not wish to point out how painfully thin she is.

“Let us venture forth,” Síneag says when they are both dressed and she has a small bundle of food wrapped in a cloth.

Ira offers her his arm and escorts her out, locking the door behind them. He takes far less time to ready himself to hunt than his fellows, so they do not encounter anyone on the way up. Once outside, Ira easily lifts Síneag into his arms. She sets her bundle in her lap and wraps her arms around his neck, enjoying the feel of his skin against hers. Ira kisses her curls before launching skyward. He selects the village he will hunt in while still in the air, and turns away to leave Síneag safely tucked away in the forest nearby.

She is quite skilled at concealment, and neither of them is certain if it is something she was always good at or if she has gained this as his servant. Either way, they have agreed to keep this information from Aurélie. Ira will only tell his Mistress what he absolutely has to.

Settling Síneag on a tree branch well out of reach of any animals that might be attracted by the scent of her or her meal, Ira makes sure she has everything she needs before flying back to the village. He quietly stalks the streets, looking for a house that will be more vulnerable than the others.

He finds one near the far edge of the village: a mother and daughter with no man at home. They are not long in settling down to their beds, so Ira waits until they sleep before entering their home. He was in the village weeks ago, before he found his Síneag, and gained invitations into most of the homes before feeding that night. The daughter in this house is not yet a woman, so he leaves her be, going to the mother instead.

His eyes glow with his power as he gently wakes her. As soon as her eyes open he has captured her, and gently commands her to come from the bed and out to the main room. He does not wish for the daughter to wake while he feeds. Ira commands her to sit, and she complies, giving him easy access to her arms. He bares one almost to the shoulder and leans over her, his lips brushing over the pulse in the crease behind her elbow. He can feel her pulse with his entire being as he opens his mouth wide to bite down.

The first taste of blood is heavenly, soothing the burning hunger as he seals his mouth over the wound and drinks deeply from the woman, her blood trailing across his tongue and burning a line down his throat. While it is nothing compared to Síneag’s blood, or even a shapechangers, it is satisfying in the most primal way.

Having drunk his fill, Ira licks his lips, allowing the blood to clot over her wounds before carefully licking away the excess without reopening the punctures. He pulls her sleeve back down and caries her to her bed, tucking her in and leaving the house before releasing her mind. She will think his face part of a dream and wonder in the morning how she harmed herself in the night.

Ira flies swiftly to Síneag and carries her back to their temporary home. He has hunted quickly, not playing games with his food as his fellows do, so there is no one there when they return. He has managed to keep Síneag from their sight for three nights in a row.

Back in their room, Síneag waits for him to lock the door before shedding her outer dress and seating herself on the divan in only her shift.

“You are eager tonight,” Ira tells her, leaning down to kiss her sweet lips.

“I want you to teach me something tonight,” she says, gazing up at him as he straightens and begins to remove his own clothing.

“Oh?” She usually saves her questions for after he has given her enough pleasure to exhaust her.

“Teach me how to return the pleasure you give,” she says.

Ira turns back to look at her, seeing the eagerness in her eyes as she gazes at him. “With pleasure, _ma karantez bihan_,” he says, removing his shirt before joining her on the divan. “We will begin as usual and I will guide you.”

Síneag leans eagerly into the kiss, caressing his chest. She was very hesitant that first night, and barely touched him, but now her hands move eagerly over his skin. Last night she discovered the delight of toying with his nipples, and uses that new-found skill tonight between explorations of his chest, back and arms.

Ira moans into her mouth as she gently rolls them between her fingers. He can feel her smile as they continue to kiss.

Síneag lets out a squeak when he sweeps her into his arms and carries her to the bed, laying her down beneath him and covering her with his body. She presses up against him, almost as if her body knows what should be happening. He enjoys the feel of her below him for a moment before rolling onto his side and shedding his trousers. She quickly rids herself of the shift and rolls to face him, her tongue flicking out over one of his nipple.

Ira sighs as she moves to the other, exploring his reactions as she tries sucking on his nipples as he has so often done with hers. He moans to let her know it is pleasurable and inhales sharply when she gently bites down, clutching at the back of her head.

“You learn quickly,” he murmurs as she moves back up to kiss his lips.

“Teach me more,” she replies just before their lips meet.

Ira takes her hand gently in his and wraps it around himself. When he lets go her hand begins to explore him, stroking gently.

“Part of you already knows,” Ira murmurs, reveling in the feel of her. He longs to be inside her but knows he must ease her into it and push the pleasure enough that she will not feel pain the first time.

“Teach me more,” she says again, a note of pleading in her voice.

“Explore,” he instructs.

Síneag is looking down at her hand now, bringing the other down at well as she glides over his firm flesh with nimble little fingers.

His breath hitches as she brushes fingers lightly from base to tip along the underside. She repeats the motion a few times, each one gaining her a small sound of encouragement from Ira.

She wraps a hand firmly around him, eliciting a groan, and her other hand delicately touches the partially retracted hood. When those small fingers brush the delicate head beneath, Ira shudders. Tentatively, her hand brushes down over the head, pushing the hood down, and Síneag glances up at him while she does it. Finding no objection from him she does it again, this time with a little more pressure, allowing her fingers to glide over the head of him before coming back up again.

Ira groans again, finding the sensation so much more intense because it is her. He has been with many far more skilled, but never one so intent on giving him the pleasure she has received.

As she continues to explore him, she begins to stroke the entire length of him, from base to tip and back down again, causing Ira’s head to fall back and his breath to quicken. Síneag’s fingers tighten slightly as she begins to stoke more insistently, her rhythm smooth but quick. Soon she has Ira clutching at her shoulders and moaning.

Her eagerness translates into a slowly speeding rhythm, pushing Ira over the edge far more quickly than he anticipates, his seed coating her fingers, arms and belly as he cries her name.

Panting, he leans down to kiss her.

“You needed little teaching,” he whispers as he pulls back, pulling a rag from the bedside table to clean his seed from her body. Soon he will leave it inside her and the thought of it is exhilarating as he kisses her again, discarding the rag as he lets his hands move over her body, drawing her close against him so that he may give her a fuller taste of what they can share together. Tonight his fingers are quick and insistent, spreading the moisture from the lips of her entrance up over the small bundle of nerves in their tiny hood.

Fast firm strokes have her moving against him in moments and he pushes just a little harder, just a touch faster, and within only a few breaths she is screaming her pleasure as she clings to him.

She sighs softly as she comes down, wrapped in Ira’s arms.

“Sleep, my love,” he murmurs, “let me walk with you in dreams.”

“Mmm,” she replies, cuddling closer to him as he pulls the heavy quilt over them. By the time she wakes, he will be recovered enough and perhaps tonight will be the night her body is ready to receive him.

#

Síneag is dancing in the clearing, the moon full in the sky and magic swirling around her in the air. She is free and happy and almost content. When she comes to a stop she looks over at the trees, and a smile spreads across her lips as a shadow detaches from them.

“Ira,” she murmurs, running to meet him.

“_Ma karantez bihan_,” he answers, wrapping his arms around her.

“We are dreaming?” Síneag inquires, gazing up at him.

“We are, love,” he answers, kissing her forehead.

“I often dream of this night.”

“How can you tell it is the same night?” he asks, stroking her hair.

“I dance at Beltane, and it’s a full moon. That’s only happened once that I remember, and that night I met you.”

“If I could dream, I would dream of you,” Ira tells her.

“You cannot dream?”

“I can only visit yours,” he answers.

“Then let tonight’s be your dream. Show me what you would dream of.”

“As you wish, my love,” Ira says before leaning down to kiss her tenderly.

Síneag surrenders to that kiss as she has so many others. Kissing him is like breathing, something she knows she would die without. When he pulls back from the kiss, Síneag knows they are no longer in the little clearing she remembers.

Looking around the room, she takes in the large bed and the many candles flickering from every surface. Even their clothes have changed. She is in a rich green silk nightgown and he wears a blue silk robe with darker blue embroidery.

“It’s beautiful,” Síneag tells him, gazing up into gray blue eyes turned even more blue by his robe.

“And it pales when compared to you,” Ira answers, claiming her lips again as he lifts her into his arms and lays her down on the bed. In dreams he need not worry, for there will be no pain. As he leans over her, their clothes vanish, allowing him to press naked flesh against naked flesh, the contact sending shivers through them both. The touch between master and Servant is always so much more. Ira hadn’t understood what that meant before he found his Síneag.

“Please,” Síneag begs when their lips finally part.

“Patience, my love,” Ira replies with a soft chuckle that glides over Síneag’s skin like warm silk.

Síneag’s answer is to kiss him, her lips and tongue demanding as she shifts her hips and spreads her legs, allowing Ira’s hard length to rest flush against where they both want it.

Ira rubs against her, inflaming her arousal and making her even more bold with their kiss. He plans a sweet torturous seduction, but when she nicks herself on his fang and her blood pools in his mouth, he is undone even in dreams.

Sitting back, he glides his hand across her waist and down to her center, sliding a finger across and just inside to make sure that she is ready. Even in their dreams he will not force her, but she makes an eager whimper when his finger brushes just inside her, and moans in disappointment when it withdraws. He marvels at her eagerness for a moment before leaning down over her again, one hand planted by her shoulder to help him balance and the other between them to guide things.

He is kissing her when he presses against her. Síneag’s hips come up, almost of their own accord, sliding him inside her. Ira groans as he lowers them back to the mattress, sheathing himself deep within her.

Síneag cries out, wrapping arms and legs around him as her muscles spasm, a small orgasm rippling through her body just from the feel of him inside her.

Ira jerks back, the scent of blood pulling him forcibly out of Síneag’s dream. It is disorienting to be lying on his side with her beside him when a moment ago he could feel her below him and around him.

Síneag whimpers in her sleep and wakes with him. “What is wrong?” she asks.

“Blood,” Ira answers, trying to find the source of it.

Síneag holds up her hand, the first two fingers bloodied.

“What happened?” Ira asks, taking her hand in his and examining it. With her hand so close the other scents are more apparent and he looks down, seeing a few drops of blood on her thigh. “Síneag, my love?” he asks, meeting her eyes then looking down again.

“I think I was touching myself while we dreamed,” she says, “I was confused when I woke because it seemed you’d shrunk but then it wasn’t you inside me.”

Ira gazes down at her in wonder. She took her own maidenhead while he dreamed of lying with her.

“May I?” he asks, holding her hand near his face again.

“Yes,” Síneag whispers. Her eyes remain locked with his as he slowly licks the blood from her fingers. She’s biting her lower lip by the time he finishes.

Ira’s eyes dart down before returning to hers.

Síneag rolls onto her back. “Yes,” she says, her eyes full of desire as she watches him move over her.

Ira kisses her firmly, thanking her for this small gift before lowering himself to lick the drops of blood from her thigh, then gently parting her legs so that he can lick the remaining blood away.

Síneag cries out as he licks the entire length of her opening, the taste of blood mingling with the taste of her sex. Ira continues to glide his tongue over her in long, languid strokes until she is squirming beneath him. Being his Human Servant has allowed her to heal the small damage she did to herself by the time he is done teasing her.

Ira crawls up her body, kissing and licking as he goes, and pausing long enough on each breast to make her gasp and moan.

“Please,” she begs again, as she did in the dream.

“You have been very patient, my love,” he answers, pressing against her with one hand firmly on her hips. In the dream he could not hurt her, but here in their room he will be in control.

Síneag tries to push upward but Ira’s hand holds her firmly against the mattress, allowing him to glide slowly and smoothly downward to the sound of Síneag’s moans and whimpers.

When Ira is sheathed completely inside her, he finds her shields coming tumbling down along with his own.

Completion fills him as her thoughts mingle with his.

She is so warm and alive, her heartbeat an intoxicating backdrop to their joining.

The coming together of two halves of a whole, as the God and Goddess join to create the Divine. A sacred right when properly shared between a willing man and woman.

The heady smell of her sex and the shifting of her still trapped hips push him beyond control and his own eagerness takes away his caution as he begins to move inside her, gliding and shifting. Each sound she makes tells him how she feels and when he finds a particularly sensitive angle the pleasure washes through them both, doubling as he repeats it.

Soon they are both lost in the rhythm of him pulling almost out of her before burying deep again, each time gliding his shaft across that one spot within her that hitches her breath on the in stroke and draws out a long moan when he pulls out.

When Síneag reaches the peak of her pleasure she screams wordlessly as the sensations course through her and glide into Ira, bringing him far sooner than anything else could have. He buries himself deeper and faster than he has before causing an entirely new set of spasms and waves of pleasure to roll through them both, bringing them to a height of completion Ira had never touched before.

They are both panting, their hearts racing, when the pleasure finally subsides. Síneag holds him close, locking her ankles behind his lower back to make sure he won’t pull away. She savors the feel of him inside her, the sense of completion it gives her, and the rush of power that swirls inside her after such a primal joining. Her mother spoke of the magic that could be called forth between a man and a woman but Síneag never imagined it could be so much or so fulfilling.

Ira rests his head on the pillow beside her cheek, careful to keep from smothering her before closing his eyes. They both doze, sated and content.


	5. Sport

Two nights later, Síneag finds a new dress waiting for her when she and Ira return from his trip to hunt. Ira’s sigh at its appearance draws her attention back to him.

“What’s wrong, love?” she asks. Why would the dress make him look so wistful?

“Aurélie commissioned a gown for you that was to be ready in time for the return of she we escort,” Ira answers, drawing Síneag into his arms. He prefers her in the relatively simple dress he purchased for her.

“You do not like the one you escort,” Síneag observes, wondering what the woman has done to earn Ira’s dislike.

“She is…” Ira trails off, not wanting to expose Síneag to the horrors he has suffered in the past. Not yet.

“Do not fret,” Síneag tells him. “I am yours, and she will not be able to harm me.”

Ira holds her, allowing himself to be soothed by her assurance. Surely for a few days he can keep his Síneag safe from such a small group. Once in London again, there will be more surety that she will be left alone as his Servant.

“Come,” Ira says, drawing away after a long moment silently holding her. “We must attend Aurélie tonight.”

“At least she doesn’t expect me to understand her when she’s speaking French,” Síneag says with a soft laugh, hoping to lighten Ira’s mood.

“So far,” Ira answers with a smile, offering her his arm. Together they walk down the passageway to the small hall where Aurélie holds court with the rest of her angels surrounding her.

Síneag can understand why Aurélie calls them her angels. They all have delicate faces, with the ethereal beauty she remembers from the church paintings and statues. With the exception of her Ira, all of Aurélie’s angels have broad shoulders and strong bodies to balance their almost feminine features. It’s almost as if Ira hadn’t been Aurélie’s choice. He is fair of face, as the others are, yet his is a very masculine beauty, and he is not as strongly built as the others, being far slimmer. It’s like the difference between the clansmen’s broad flat swords and the slim, delicate swords she has seen English nobles carry. Both inspire fear, for they are deadly blades, but are so very different in character.

“You will have your peasant more presentable tomorrow night, Gabriel,” Aurélie says as soon as they enter the room.

“Of course, Mistress,” Ira answers, guiding Síneag beside him to take their place between Luke and the twins, Jeremiel and Simiel. She is grateful that she is allowed to stand beside the twins rather than Luke. He always seems to be watching her and it makes Síneag’s skin crawl. The twins ignore her for the most part, which Síneag is perfectly content with.

“Raphael, you have found suitable entertainment for the evening?” Aurélie asks next, her smile almost vicious.

“Yes, Mistress,” Raphael answers, moving from his place on the other side of Luke to unlock a large trunk in a far corner of the room.

Síneag’s eyes grow wide when two young men emerge from the trunk, huddling close to each other.

“Such lovely things,” Aurélie purrs, gliding down from her raised seat to inspect them.

Ira wraps his hand around Síneag’s giving her the comfort of his touch as they watch.

_“She will study your reactions_, ma karantez bihan_,”_ he tells her silently. _“Show her no fear and no revulsion, and she will not feel the need to show you her sport.”_

_“Sport?”_ Síneag asks, her voice uncertain as Raphael and Michael lift a heavy frame of Iron and proceed to chain the two young men so that they hang in the air like St. Andrew did on his cross.

_“If it becomes too much, tell me, and I will give you a more pleasant memory to see instead,”_ Ira offers.

Síneag watches in mute horror as Luke presents Aurélie with a long coiled whip before resuming his place beside them. The soothing balm of Ira’s calm presence beside her is the only thing that keeps her from flinching at the crack of that whip.

Try as she might, Síneag cannot keep the look of disgust from her face as Aurélie lets the whip play along the bodies of the two young men. Even worse than the bloody welts that rise along their skin is the look of rapturous joy on Aurélie’s face as she whips them. The light in her eyes almost sparkles with the sound of each scream.

_“What did they do?”_ Síneag asks Ira. Punishment she can understand. Anyone caught stealing in the village was usually beaten and bloody when the men were through with them.

_“Nothing,”_ Ira answers her, the sadness evident in his voice. _“They have done nothing.”_

_“Then why?”_

_“It is a pleasure for Aurélie that rivals any other. She would rather whip them than bed them for she gains more joy from it.”_

Síneag turns to look at her beloved Ira in shock. How could anyone enjoy such things?

Turning back to the ugly scene before her, Síneag focuses on the faces of the two young men. The pain she can read in their eyes makes her heart ache for them. That innocents should be punished so is wrong and she knows that one day Aurélie will pay dearly for the pain she causes now, but Síneag doubts it will be any comfort to the two men hanging limp with pain.

“What brings such a look to your face?” Aurélie demands suddenly.

Síneag starts, finding the woman standing before her with an angry frown marring her beautiful face.

“Compassion,” Síneag answers, gazing boldly into Aurélie’s brown eyes. They glow like the polished wood of the altar rail in the church in Inverness.

“Compassion?” Aurélie mocks. “Such a wasted sentiment.”

“If you say so, Mistress,” Síneag answers, giving the woman no space in which to call her disrespectful. She has seen the heavy blows Aurélie gives her angels when she thinks they are being disrespectful.

“Mussette will like this one, I think,” Aurélie says.

She laughs when Ira draws Síneag against his side protectively.

“Yes, she will like this one very much,” Aurélie says gleefully before returning to her whipping.

Ira holds Síneag close until both men have passed out and Aurélie sends all of them away save Michael and Raphael.

Síneag looks back just before they leave the room. She is in time to see Aurélie licking blood from one of the young men as her two angels remove her dress. _May the God and Goddess see your plight and ease your pain_, she silently prays for them. One of them screams just before the door closes behind them.

_“I am sorry, Síneag,”_ Ira whispers through her mind as they return to their room. _“I would spare you such sights, but they are far too common for me to shield you completely.”_

_“It is not your fault, love,”_ she answers, wrapping her arm around his waist_. “She is your Mistress and gives us no choice but to witness what she chooses for us to see.”_

Ira’s only answer is a soft sigh as he closes the door behind them and draws her into his arms. If he could, he would have kept his beloved away from his Mistress and all the others. Even after two centuries he still has no control over anything but himself and not even all of that. At least he has the power to protect his dear Síneag from such harm as those young men received.


	6. Enter Mussette

The following night, Ira wakes to find Síneag curled against his side, her eyes open and watching him. Her gray green eyes are thoughtful when she meets his.

“_Ma karantez_?” Ira murmurs, reaching up to touch her cheek.

“What can we do to make it the most obvious that I am yours?” Síneag asks softly. She has slept little this afternoon because she could not rid herself of the worry that plagued her since they left Aurélie’s entertainment the night before. Something very important is going to happen tonight. She never inherited the skills her mother had for predictions, but when she has a certainty like she does today, it always turns out to be true.

“You will be on my arm, and my mark will be visible to all,” Ira answers, cupping her cheek.

“I just want to make sure we have done everything we can,” Síneag replies. “Tonight is important. It will affect so many things.” If only she could know more than that. The complete certainty can be comforting, but the total lack of detail is distressing at the same time.

“We will be together, and none shall have you but me,” Ira assures her, stroking her cheek soothingly. “All will be well.”

Síneag does not contradict him. Instead, she leans in to kiss her love, feeling the thrill that always comes with his touch and his kiss.

Ira can still feel her worry, but gives her the distraction and comfort she craves, kissing her deeply and caressing her body before gently pressing against her mind. His beloved servant surrenders to his power as he kisses her jaw.

With her arms wrapped around him, he savors the moment, enjoying the thrill of her trust and faith in him before his lips brush over her pulse. Even after as little as a week, he can feel the difference as he holds her close. She does not feel so fragile as she did that first night.

Ira kisses her neck one last time before he bites. Her blood rushes across his tongue as he feeds, the power in it still heady even now that she is his servant. It will serve them well to appear more powerful when Mussette returns tonight. To show the small woman even the slightest hint of weakness can bring torments he wishes his Síneag never to experience.

Drawing back from the bite, Ira watches the blood well against his little love’s throat. He catches each drop with his tongue before it can slide down her neck.

They lay quietly together for long moments after Síneag has stopped bleeding. Neither wishes to leave the solitude they have been allowed for the past weeks. Ira does not need Síneag’s premonition to tell him that everything will change after tonight. Mussette is returning, and they have already visited every Master of the City in Scotland who shares their lineage. While it is not certain that they will be returning to London now, they will not remain here once Mussette has joined them once again.

“Come, _ma karantez bihan_, we must prepared for the night,” Ira urges, drawing Síneag up as he sits. “You must look the part when we go down.”

Síneag nods, slipping off the bed. “Will I have a chance to eat again before dawn?” she asks, looking over her shoulder as she walks to the wardrobe.

“It is unlikely, so have your fill now while I set out our clothes for the evening.”

Síneag settles beside her basket to take her meal. The image forcibly reminds Ira of his youth. He and his brother would share a small meal carried in a basket when they were sent to the village to collect whatever the master of the house had sent them for. Not since he last saw his beloved brother centuries ago, has he been able to enjoy any part of his life. And he finds it is the very simplicity of Síneag that is so comforting.

Turning away from the beauty of the small moment, Ira collects their clothes for the evening. The dress Aurélie commissioned echoes the suit his Mistress most likes to see him wear. She enjoys matching pairs, and he hopes tonight to please Aurélie in as many small ways as possible, since it will not be possible to please Mussette without causing someone pain. If he is strong enough tonight, Síneag need not learn that through her own pain or Ira’s.

#

Síneag feels constricted in the fine dress Aurélie procured. Ira had to lace her into parts of it and she is not entirely sure she could get out on her own. They are the last to arrive in the hall, taking their usual place to wait for Ira’s mistress.

Aurélie is not alone tonight when she enters, but is accompanied by a woman at least a hand shorter with waves of golden hair cascading down her back and a dress even more elaborate than Aurélie’s with a plunging neckline. This is a woman that Ira fears. She does not look intimidating, but Síneag knows better than most that one cannot judge based on appearances. Síneag keeps her focus on the two women while facing straight ahead, only her eyes tracing their movement through the room.

The new woman glanced about at them, letting Síneag catch a glimpse of her sky blue eyes. She does not seem to notice Sineag at all as she glides to the front of the room with Aurélie and settles on the chair waiting for her.

“You’ve added someone new,” the woman says.

“My angel found a useful Servant, Mussette,” Aurélie replied.

“Useful?” she asked, her eyes finding Síneag.

Síneag is careful not to look at her directly. Even though she won’t fall to the gaze of a vampire, she should not let them know that.

“She increases his power which increases my own,” Aurélie replied.

“Perhaps a display to entertain me while we wait for the coaches to arrive,” Mussette says.

_“Is there anything visually interesting but not revealing that you could do?”_ Ira asked her silently.

“Yes,” Aurélie said, “have your peasant show us something interesting, Gabriel.”

_“I doubt it will please them but there are small things I can do,”_ Síneag told Ira. She was not terribly skilled in most kinds of magic, her strength lying in her unique ability to see the bonds of others, but she could do small things with the elements.

“As you wish,” Ira said bowing to Aurélie and Mussette as Síneag stepped away from him.

She moved to the back of the room, lifting one of the heavy candelabras from the tables at the back. She brought it with her to the center of the room, crouching carefully so she could set it on the floor without setting her dress aflame.

Síneag stepped back from the candelabras and took a deep breath, centering herself in her body and praying silently to the Goddess and God that she could make this sufficiently interesting. She held her hand out before her, hoping to make the small trick more elaborate with her own movements.

Concentrating on the candle flames, Síneag stretched that which bound them to the wicks, raising the flickering flames into the air above the candles. Ira had told her how easy it was for a _fuilól_ to catch fire, so she hoped this trick would make her seem sufficiently powerful simply because it would make her dangerous to a _fuilól_.

Once the flames were hanging in the air, Síneag drew the others flames in the room toward them, arranging them in such a way that they appeared to be a larger ball of fire than they were. She lifted the sphere into the air above her and then released her hold on the flames. They all streaked back to their candles, some flying rather close to some of Ira’s brothers. It would be good for them to think she was at least a little dangerous now that they would be leaving the relative safety of this isolated castle.

Síneag lowered her hand and dipped a curtsey to Mussette and Aurélie before carefully crouching down to collect the candelabra and return it to its place.

“Useful enough I suppose,” Mussette said, her voice dripping with boredom and disinterest.

_“Well played, _ma karantez_,”_ Ira said to Síneag. _“She is more impressed than she sounds.”_

Síneag wondered how Ira could know such a thing. She silently returned to her beloved, never glancing over at his mistress or Mussette.

“Do we have time for our entertainments this evening?” Aurélie inquired.

“Unfortunately not,” Mussette replied, sounding almost like a petulant child. “The couches will be arriving soon and then we must be on our way. We are expected in twelve days.”

“Do you require any assistance preparing for the journey?” Aurélie asked next.

Síneag could feel how eager Aurélie was to please Mussette. It was harder to tell what motivated that, but Ira’s mistress wanted to ingratiate herself.

“It is being taken care of,” Mussette said dismissively. “A few servants were sent along with the coaches. They will take care of all the details. Why don’t you send them off to pack their things while I tell you about the latest meeting?”

“Off with you,” Aurélie said, waving her hand at them.

Ira offered Síneag his arm and escorted her from the room as his fellows moved toward the door more slowly.

“There must be more to her if he is so solicitous,” Mussette said as they were leaving.

“I will be sure to find out,” Aurélie replied.

Síneag was ill at ease as they returned to their room and quickly packed away all of Ira’s things along with the few Síneag had collected since joining him. Something was still going to happen tonight, something important. She could still feel the impending event.


	7. Arrows in the Dark

By midnight everything had been loaded onto coaches and Ira and Síneag were simply waiting for Aurélie to assign them to one for their travels. Síneag was grateful when they were relegated to the last coach, even if it meant being in the most crowded of them. She, Ira, and Luke had to make due with a single seat between them because some of the luggage was piled within their coach as well.

When it became obvious that all three of them would not fit on the coach seat together, Síneag slid off the seat and settled herself against the side of the couch between Ira’s knees and the trunks on the other side. She was not too proud to sit on the floor and it made them all far more comfortable.

Luke nodded to Ira, but didn’t comment.

The coach pulled out, and Síneag gently wrapped her hand around Ira’s leg where Luke shouldn’t be able to see. The movement was disconcerting. The only time she’d ever moved under power that was not her own was when Ira was carrying her.

_“Alright _ma karantez bihan_?”_ Ira asked.

_“I have never ridden in a coach before,”_ Síneag replied.

_“You will be used to it by the time we reach London.”_

_“London?”_ they were going so far away?

_“For now,”_ Ira replied. _“Eventually we will be called home to our Mistress’s court in France.”_

Síneag had never dreamed of traveling so far away. Inverness was the furthest she’d been from the village.

_“I will be with you,”_ Ira reminded her.

_“And that is all I truly need,”_ Síneag replied. Now that she was bound to Ira, she would be content as long as they were together and she knew that Ira would do everything in his power to make her happy.

Ira was right that she would get used to the motion of the coach quickly. She was practically asleep when they finally stopped. There was a rhythm to the swaying and creaking that eased her from alert to dozing, so she startled when the motion stopped.

_“We must rest the horses,”_ Ira informed her.

Síneag yawned in reply, and she could see that it made Ira smile.

Luke opened the door and stepped down from the coach, giving Ira room to slide down and help Síneag to her feet. Everyone had disembarked, milling about along the side of the road as the coachmen took care of the horses. Traveling seemed to be just as boring and tiresome as Síneag had always been told.

Mussette and Aurélie were the first to reenter their coach. The twins handed them in and then joined them. Ira turned back toward their coach so Síneag followed, taking Ira’s hand so he could steady her as she climbed in. It was harder with the layers of skirts and petticoats that came with the dress Aurélie had bought for her. She’d just gotten them in hand so she could step up when she heard a soft whistling noise followed by a equally soft thump.

Síneag turned to look back at the other coaches. There were more whistling noises this time followed by a sharp surprised cry from Raphael. There was an arrow protruding from his back. She saw the next arrow winging toward them, because it’s tip was aflame.

Ira pulled her aside and the flaming arrow imbedded itself in the side of their coach. Síneag reached out, drawing the flame to her, and then breaking the bond between it and the arrow, the flame snuffing out when disconnected from what it burned. She looked back toward the other coaches. There were more flaming arrows, and she could see more flying toward them.

The horses started stamping and crying out, and Síneag suspected it wouldn’t be long before they tried to escape the flames the only way they knew how. She focused on the flame from another arrow flying toward them, extinguishing it before it clattered against the wheel of the coach.

_“Do you need to see them to extinguish them?”_ Ira asked her, his eyes scanning the tree line in the direction the arrows appeared to be coming from.

_“No,”_ Síneag replied. She only needed to know they were there and draw on her power to see the bond between the flame and its source.

“We need to move,” Ira said aloud, actually picking Síneag up and putting her in the coach. “Síneag will deal with the flames,” he added as he climbed in behind her.

Luke was fast on his heels, sliding into the coach and closing the door behind them just as another arrow thudded into the side of their coach.

“I’ve told our Mistress that you will take care of the flames,” Ira told Síneag. “We must away or they will have us trapped.”

Síneag nodded. Whoever was attacking them knew that flame was dangerous. She settled herself against the wall of the coach, her hand on Ira’s knee to steady herself, and closed her eyes as the horses began to move. She felt for the bond between fire and source and the arrows flared to life behind her eyes, showing her four in the front coach, three in the second and five in theirs. One by one, Síneag pulled the flames toward her, stretching the bond until it broke on its own. If she tried to break them all with her magic she would quickly run out.

It felt like ages as she drew each flame from its source. She could smell the smoke around her by the time she started on the flames licking at their own coach. There were nearly a dozen flaming arrows in it by then and she could feel herself getting tired.

_“Take what you need,”_ Ira told her, his hand taking hers and his power breathing across her skin.

Síneag let his power sink into her. She couldn’t use it as she would her own magic, but the more of his power that flooded through her the more of her magic seemed to be available. She didn’t have time to question it as she pushed the flames away from the coach. Their connections to the wood and clothe and oil they were burning snapped one by one and the flames winked out, leaving only the smell of smoke and charred wood behind.

Leaning heavily against Ira’s leg, Síneag tried to focus on the simple act of breathing. She’d never been able to use her magic often, for fear of discovery. Using it for so long left her feeling exhausted and disconnected from her own body, as if she were floating in the air like one of the flames.

Ira’s hand stroked her hair, the small touch bringing her back to herself. She continued to rest against his leg, breathing deeply as his touch helped ground her in her own body once more.

#

Ira marveled at what Síneag was capable of. When he dropped his own shields and shared his power with her as she seemed to tire he was able to feel the wellspring of magic within her. She hadn’t been running out of magic to use, simply the strength to direct it. He wondered if she even knew what she was capable of. The world was a dangerous place for anyone the church saw as evil, and Síneag’s abilities as a witch would brand her as such. She must have spent her whole life hiding it.

It wasn’t long before Síneag has fallen asleep leaning against his leg. Ira kept her hand in his and his other resting against her hair, helping to stabilizer her as the coach moved. He would not disturb her slumber.

_“We appear to have outrun whoever that was,”_ Aurélie informed him. _“Your servant has been very useful.”_

_“Yes, Mistress,”_ Ira replied. This was a useful skill, and defensive, so it was something they could show Aurélie easily and perhaps they could keep the extent of Síneag’s abilities a secret. His little love had said something important would happen tonight. He would have to remember how accurate such a feeling had been. Having some warning of impending events could prove useful for protecting her.

**Author's Note:**

> Fuilól is my own construction (a combination of fuil meaning “blood” and ói meaning “drinking” from Gaelic) to serve as an old Gaelic term still used in Scotland at the time of the story to refer to a vampire. The term would be pronounced like Filil, using the “i” sound from “miss,” and serves as both the singular and the plural.  
This story is set in Scotland, early in the second half of the 18th century, but I have chosen to use modern spellings of place names to avoid confusion.


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